


love languages

by laikaspeaks



Series: FE3H Drabble Collection [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Language Barrier, Languages, Marriage, Mild sensuality, Post-Time Skip, Same-Sex Marriage, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laikaspeaks/pseuds/laikaspeaks
Summary: Petra and Dorothea's wedding is the happiest day of their lives, the way only hard-won happiness can be.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Series: FE3H Drabble Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553494
Comments: 19
Kudos: 140





	love languages

**Author's Note:**

> Just for clarity, Petra and Dorothea are speaking two different languages in this fic. Petra is speaking Brigid and Dorothea is speaking the common language from the empire. I tried to make that clear but I'm not sure HOW clear it is. 
> 
> Also this fic was inspired by the artwork "Brigid Queens" by Ticcy (@Ticcytx on twitter) so you know if you haven't checked them out hit that twitter up because all their art is golden. That is all.

Dorotha adapted to her new life in Brigid surprisingly well.

Ridiculous sunburns aside, there was only one issue that continued to plague her stay: the language continued to elude Dorothea despite her best efforts. She could understand almost everything and her accent was better than most, but she spoke only haltingly.

Even Petra’s rough grammar during their school days didn’t hold a candle to the jumbled mess when Dorothea opened her mouth. It never failed to make a flush rush to Dorothea’s cheeks - for much of her life Petra’s fiancé traded on her eloquence and charm, and Dorothea openly admitted the lack of one of those things made her feel hobbled in this new land.

It filled Petra with pride to see that she didn’t back down from the challenge. 

Even the crankiest and wariest of Brigid grandmothers eventually took her under their wing, sharing recipes and weaving patterns through gestures and laughter. How could they not love her as Petra did? She was humble and kind, willing to learn, even when others would cling to their stubbornness and pride. 

However, when clarity was a concern Petra found they met somewhere in the middle, with Dorothea speaking her own native tongue and Petra speaking her own in return. It didn’t really put Petra out at all. This was what Petra hoped for their future - a give and take as natural as breathing.

_Their future._ The thought made Petra’s heart gallop in her chest. They were getting _married._

It barely felt real even with her fingers combing through Dorothea’s soft brown hair and her fiance's absent humming filling their shared changing room. She hummed when she was happy. Petra hoped she would hear it always.

“This is very nice,” Dorothea’s dreamy voice broke her out of her musing, “but if you keep that up, we're going to be late for our own wedding.”

“They can wait a little longer.” The feasting had already long started, after all. She doubted that the wedding guests would notice if they showed up at all, even for their queen. That was how it should be.

She didn’t want to rush this.

Petra always dreamed of this part. Working the braids and beads into her beloved’s hair, sliding the gold bands up her arms, and tying the various sashes into their proper places. Well, perhaps that last wasn’t always part of it, but Dorothea still fumbled with getting her skirt to hang just right. Funny, considering the relative difficulty of Fodlan’s fashions. Privately Petra thought Dorothea looked even better in the elaborate burgundy, brown and gold patterned wraps than the somber dark-toned dresses she favored during the war. Though in fairness, that was probably because being in Brigid suited her well.

Smiling suited her even better.

Dorothea told her that on the mainland it was tradition for the brides to be kept apart until the wedding ceremony itself, but she couldn’t imagine giving this up. Missing even one second of that look on Dorothea’s face - soft and sweet and almost bewildered - was too much.

Petra took the opportunity to prop her chin on Dorothea’s shoulder, watching her reflection in the mirror. “Are those tears?”

“Shut up,” Dorothea swatted Petra’s shoulder, which just made Petra's catlike smirk grow wider. “No! You stop that.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re laughing at me.” She turned on the stool to face Petra, her expression settling into an almost-serious sulk.

“Only because even your tears are beautiful as the rain, my heart.” It was a cheesy line even in her native tongue - perhaps especially so, saccharine and oozing as as biting into a fruit tart - but she loved speaking her thoughts and being _understood_. She loved the way it made Dorothea's cheeks flush, the sheepish delight when her words hit the mark. She never expected to achieve this particular dream, and sometimes her heart felt like it could burst. Petra cupped Dorothea’s burning face, rubbing her thumbs over the curves of her cheekbones, just for the satisfaction of holding that dream in her hands.

Dorothea leaned into the touch, letting her eyes slide closed with a sigh. “Now you’re just doing that on purpose.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Again. Slowly, please?”

“Even your tears are beautiful to me,” Petra leaned close, and kissed playfully at her cheeks until Dorothea’s pout turned into a giggle, “but not as beautiful as your laugh.”

“That was different from the first one. Say it again?” Dorothea’s innocent expression cracked, that lovely crooked smirk tilting her mouth. Petra wanted to kiss it. So she did.

“You just want to hear me say it.” She murmured against Dorothea’s lips, sliding a hand around her waist to pull her closer.

Dorothea looped her arms around Petra’s neck, and whispered right back. “Maybe I do.”

“You are my heart.” She sounded it out against Dorothea’s ear, drawing out the words into a purr that made the other woman shiver. “I love you the way the sea loves the shore.”

Dorothea broke first with a squeak - buried her face in Petra’s shoulder with helpless laughter - and removed Petra's hand from her rear to hold it up as evidence. “I think you love my ass.”

“I love that too.” Petra grinned, unrepentant. She twined their hands together so she could press a kiss to the back of Dorothea’s hand. They had matching calluses on opposite hands, she noted absently. Was it strange that she found it delightful? “I can do both.”

“I know. It’s what I love about you.”

The heat in her eyes made Petra’s heart flutter. “Maybe we should skip the ceremony. We can stay right here.”

“I _will_ challenge you to a duel, Petra Macneary.”

“Is that a promise?” Petra knew that Dorothea would never truly enjoy fighting, but her fiance in full battle dress did things to Petra that it probably shouldn’t. “I look forward to it.”

Unfortunately, Dorothea definitely saw the way her cheeks warmed, and deliberately chose that moment to grab Petra’s sword belt from its hook. Petra had never wished for her old, claustrophobic uniform more than in this moment, with Dorothea’s hands lingering around her waist. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“N-no need.” She was sure her face was starting to match the maroon of her own skirts as Dorothea's hands skimmed up to linger over the buckles of her ornate pauldrons.

“Oooh, so the warrior queen of Brigid is backing down now?” Dorothea was taking every advantage of her turn, touching way more than was strictly needed even if there was a truly stunning amount of jewelry prepared for Petra’s wedding attire. That wicked smile of hers was going to be the death her, Petra was sure of it. There was only one sure way to claim victory - and Petra was willing to play dirty to win.

She surged forward to press her forehead against Dorotha’s. “Never. Not from you.”

“...That’s cheating.” She said that, but her heated touches quickly turned to something sweeter, something so heavy with longing that it made Petra’s heart ache in response.

Petra twined her hand with Dorothea’s, and tugged her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“We’re in a hurry _now_?” Dorothea laughed, tone all tangled up with her exasperation and thwarted plans.

“Yes.” Petra smiled over her shoulder, and every part of her warmed at the fact Dorothea looked as stricken with love as she felt. “I can’t wait any longer to marry you.”


End file.
